


Of Cup Pies and Second Lives

by wordsthatkeepyouhome



Category: Pushing Daisies, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsthatkeepyouhome/pseuds/wordsthatkeepyouhome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John find themselves at the Pie Hole</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cup Pies and Second Lives

“Idiots.”

“Sherlock, it’s not their fault the door was jammed. In all appearances, it looked like a sealed room murder and that’s definitely an 8 in your scale.”

“It seems I may have overestimated their abilities to use my scale appropriately. That was a 3, John. I left the flat for a measly 3.”

God when will I hear the end of this, I wonder? There he goes, coat collar turned up so he looks cool, walking so fast I can barely keep up. Doesn’t he know how long his legs are? How long would it take for him to notice if I stop right here?

Is that a- yes it is. It actually is a roof shaped like a pie crust. 

“Sherlock, look at this.”

I see him about 3 strides away. Probably would have been farther if I hadn’t called his attention. Really doesn’t care if he leaves me behind, does he?

He walks back to where I am despite the fact that I know he can see it from there. “The Pie Hole,” he reads.

I could really go for some pie right now. I make a move to walk in and Sherlock grabs me by the elbow.

“John, we don’t have time,” he protests.

“Why the hell not? You’ve solved the case, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“And who dragged me out of the flat before I had a chance to eat?”

“They said it was an 8, John-”

“Come on, Sherlock. They sell pies and they have a pie crust for a roof!” I am much too amused by this fact.

“ I can’t believe your tastes would be so arbitrarily dictated by a roof ornament.”

He complains but he doesn’t leave. He always lets me eat, even allows it when we’re on a case. He makes time. Does he think I don’t notice? I do. This is just an act. 

“I think it’s fantastic,” I say.

“Be careful, John. Use that word to describe my deductions as well as…. this,” he gestures to the roof, “and the word may just lose its meaning.”

I roll my eyes. 

We walk in together and sit at an empty booth. A blonde woman in a green close-fitting dress walks up to our table and hands us each a menu. “Welcome to the Pie Hole, as in shut your. What can I get you?” 

Sherlock barely glances at the menu before setting it down on the table. He sits sideways, his back to the window as he scans the room. 

I look at the long list of pies and I feel almost lost. 

“What do you recommend?” I ask, flashing her a smile. 

Sherlock scoffs and I ignore him. If I can leave this place with her number, then why not?

“How about a slice of Triple Berry?” 

“That sounds lovely.”

She takes a quick look at Sherlock and then asks, “Will that be two slices?”

The scowl on his face at the question definitely meant he was determined not to enjoy this. “No, just one. Sherlock’s not really the type to-”

“What? Not a pie guy?” 

“Not the type to eat very much at all, actually.”

“No wonder,” she says and she slides into our booth and I scoot over to make room for her. “I’m Olive, by the way.” I don’t think about her thigh touching mine. 

“Uh, John. John Watson.”

She beams at me, her thin lips stretched into a smile that almost seems too big for her face. 

“Sherlock, is it?” She looks at him appraisingly. “God you’re skinny. I bet I could lift you over my shoulder and throw you across the street.”

“He says digestion slows him down. He’s all about the work, you see.” I interject before Sherlock can say anything rude. He looks like he’s about to.

“Why don’t you try our cup pies?”

A brunette with long wavy hair leans over from the booth behind ours and smiles. 

“Excuse Chuck, she’s been trying to get people to eat her cup pies ever since Ned put them on the menu.”

“What is a cup pie?” I ask. 

She disappears again behind the seat and steps back out to slide in next to Sherlock. He has the decency to stop sitting sideways. She places a small cupcake-sized pie on the table. 

“A cup pie. A single-serve pie with honey, my honey, baked into the crust.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen just a little bit. Finally something that interests him. I wait for him to say anything but he doesn’t. Maybe he needs a little nudge. 

“Your honey? You have your own bees then?”

“Yes! Bee-keeping is one of my hobbies. Here, try one.” 

She pushes the cup pie toward Sherlock and hands him a fork. He doesn’t take it at first, but with three sets of eyes looking at him expectantly, he removes his right glove and he finally does. He cuts a small piece and puts it in his mouth. 

“It’s… fine,” he says and I just shake my head. Probably just doesn’t want to give us the satisfaction. The stubborn git. 

“I’ll get you your slice then,” Olive says before leaving.

“Thank you.”

I watch her go and I turn back to face Chuck. I see Sherlock take another bite of pie and I smile to myself. 

“So what is it that you do that means that this one,” she jerks her head to indicate Sherlock, “can’t be bothered to eat?”

“That’s what I was about to ask.” Olive sets down my pie and sits back down beside me. 

“Sherlock is a consulting detective,” I say before taking a bite. God this pie is delicious. 

“Oh, a detective” Chuck’s voice seems louder. “ I know a detective.”

“Clearly he doesn’t share your philosophy about ‘the work’” I can practically hear the air quotes in her voice. 

“Hey I heard that.” A man’s voice quips from behind our booth and both Chuck and Olive giggle. “And where’s my Rhubarb, Olive?” 

“A consulting detective,” Sherlock says. “I’m the only one in the world. When the police are out of their depth, which happens all the time considering how they’re all idiots-”

“Sherlock.” I say warningly.

“-they consult me,” he finishes. 

“Basically, when they’re at a dead end, they call him up and he comes in, swishing his long coat-”

“I do not swish.”

“- he observes and he makes deductions and he points them in the right direction, although we do end up chasing after criminals ourselves.”

“You must have a lot of stories then,” Chuck says, almost wistfully. “Really gruesome murders in double locked rooms where the key to the first door is behind the second one and you can only lock it from outside. Or inventive murder weapons! Have you ever had a case where the murderer used a four-part poison where you have to touch four things for it to kill you?”

What? Who is this girl? 

Sherlock’s mouth twitches into a smirk and I can tell he’s intrigued by her. 

“No I can’t say I have.” I bet he wishes he does.

“That’s a bummer.”

“How does it work then?” Olive asks. “Go on, make a deduction.”

“Oh, do me!” Chuck says, her brown eyes alight. 

“You’re…” Sherlock eyes Chuck up and down and he frowns curiously. “…odd.” 

“Sherlock!” 

“I’ve been told I smell like death.”

“Interesting,” Sherlock says and he takes a whiff. 

Oh god. I can’t take you anywhere, can I?

“Me next!” Olive pipes in. 

Sherlock looks at her and rattles off a list of deductions he must have started as soon as we walked in.

“You used to be a professional horse jockey, judging by your build and your size and your hands. The way you dress suggests you want to impress someone, possibly a customer but unlikely considering how empty this place is, more likely a co-worker. Ned. You say his name quite fondly and you take care of his dog for him, the one in the kitchen right now, judging by the fur on your clothes. Unlikely that the dog is yours because honestly who would allow their employees to bring pets in the work place, especially one that serves food. No reciprocation, because he’s already attached to this lady right beside me. How did I do?”

They’re both still looking at him and I take in Olive and Chuck’s stunned silence and I know Sherlock’s right. He’s hardly ever wrong. Still I wish he’d know when to shut up. Chuck sneaks a glance at Olive as if to make sure she’s okay or if she has recovered. She hasn’t. Olive’s mouth is partially open. In shock. She’s even a bit pale. 

“How did you know about me and Ned?” Chuck asks.

“Cup pies. And the bees.”

“I’ll go and get Emerson’s pie now.” Olive says, her voice seems to have lost its spark. She looks a bit dazed… or maybe even defeated. Recent heartbreak then? I look back at Chuck and I wait. 

“That was amazing,” she says and throws a quick look at Olive as she goes. Still worried. The shock in Sherlock’s eyes was barely contained; he’s still not used to that. “It’s almost like a super power. Think you can you teach me that?” 

Sherlock smiles and tries to get another bite of pie, only to find that the plate was empty. He frowns and looks almost confused, as if he couldn’t understand where it had gone. He can’t have eaten the whole thing, he’d think. 

“Maybe if you show him your bees…” I suggest.

“Oh! Do you want to? Let’s go then. They’re up on the roof.” She grabs Sherlock’s hand and leads him out of the booth. 

“Before you even think to ask, Sherlock, we are not putting bees on our roof.”

“But John!” He says just as Chuck drags him out of the Pie Hole. 

I laugh and finish the rest of my pie. I think we’ll be spending a lot more time here from now on. 

They come back after 10 minutes or so, still buzzing about the bees. Ha.

Sherlock throws me pleading looks every now and then, and I almost regret suggesting they go see the bees. But it’s quite nice to see him make a new friend.

“Chuck, time to go. Emerson has a case.” He is very tall, although he’s slouching a bit, with his hands in his pockets. It almost looks like he’s bracing himself for something. Oh but he looks so smitten, absolutely smitten when Chuck looks at him. 

The man right next to him is large. I see a bulge under his coat and out of habit I check the gun I have tucked in the waistband of my jeans. The scowl on his face indicates that he is decidedly unhappy that Ned had invited Chuck.

“Wait, I’d like you guys to meet Sherlock and John. This is,” she gestures to the large man.

“Emerson Cod, private detective.” He extends a hand and I shake it. Sherlock too. 

“And this is Ned, my childhood sweetheart. He’s a consulting pie-maker,” she smiles. Sherlock looks equal parts intrigued, confused and miffed. Must have thought he was so special, inventing a job for himself. 

“Come on! We have the Harrington case.”

The name sounds familiar. Surely not the one...

“Harrington? Robert Harrington?” Sherlock asks. And Emerson just nods. “We just solved that case.”

“What do you mean you just solved that case? You got my reward money?” Emerson slides in next to Chuck, and he looks angry. Must have been a lot of money, but then…

“I don’t charge for my services. All I care about is the work. They shouldn’t have even called me. That case was dull. Barely a 3.”

“Listen here. That was my money, and my case. You don’t get to-”

I sigh and tune them out. There were enough cases for the both of them. Sherlock turns people away almost every day. They’ll reach the same conclusion soon enough. 

Ned slides in next to me and flashes Chuck an apologetic smile. Chuck just shrugs and folds her arms on the table and rests her head there, so Sherlock and Emerson have room to argue. I look at her, and I look at him, and they’re looking at one another, and I feel like I’m intruding. The way Ned looks at her. Like he was afraid of the dark and she had brought the sun in. I wonder if I’ve ever looked at anyone like that. 

I look at Sherlock and I wonder.

“Come along, John. Emerson and I are done here.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” 

The three of them stand and move to the side to let Sherlock and I pass. We say our goodbyes and turn to leave when Olive comes out of the kitchen carrying a box.

“Some of Chuck’s cup pies,” she says as she hands the box to me. “When you come back, I’m definitely fattening you up, Sherlock.” 

She smiles at him, and I breathe a sigh of relief. 

“We’ll be back,” Sherlock says, and it was hard not to look so pleased with myself. To think he had said we didn’t have time for this.

We leave the Pie Hole and there he goes yet again. Coat collar up. Strides as long as a giraffe’s. I jog to keep up, careful not to jostle the box. 

“Lovely people, weren’t they? You got along really well with Chuck.”

“There’s something about her that still bothers me.” 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know,” he says, his brows furrowed. “Didn’t you find anything strange?”

“No. Not really.” 

“Honestly, John. You didn’t even wonder why a private detective would need to consult with a pie-maker?”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how long this fic is going to be. all i know is that i want reichenbach to happen in this verse and all the in-between parts will be ficlets based on prompts. so the more prompts i get, the farther off reichenbach is going to be, i suppose. :) right now, i have three prompts all from Rowan, on Mycroft and Olive meeting, Ned and Sherlock talking about pie ingredients, and Chuck and John talking about the war. So feel free to send me some more in my ask.


End file.
